|
|
23: The Training Train For the rest of us the running out continued. We had to learn to handle air- and vacuum-braked freight and passenger trains. Also a loose-coupled freight with a brake van. We had done the passengers and now we would do the others. A lot of handling would be learned on the training train, but the Derby men had got that so we had to wait. Steve said that whilst we were waiting we need look no further than our own depot. But we were slap-bang in the middle of the 1984 miner's strike and coal trains were few and far between. We'd had enough experience as second men and we wouldn’t have touched one anyway due to the situation. But we needed to brush up on our vacuum handling. For some reason our stone trains ran at night throughout that period, so we decided to work the West Drayton, a train which consisted of a 47 or a pair of 20s with a long rake of mineral wagons. It was an ideal train for us learn on, but it wasn't easy. Air-braking could be used how you liked, within reason, but vacuum techniques called for greater concentration. Not enough vaccum and nothing would happen - you either ran down a gradient or entered a speed restriction too quickly. But apply just a little too much and you'd almost come to a standstill! 'You haven't done bad for regular days,' said our conscientious but easy-going instructor. 'So we'll do a couple of night turns to get you on vacuum.' At last we got our chance on the training train. The Leicester men had managed to hog it on days, so that meant us having it in the afternoons. Still, in my book, that was much better than nights. This train consisted of a Class 25 or 31 and three of the dustiest broken-down coaches we had ever seen. Retrieved from the darkest corners of Etches Park they'd probably been there for years until someone decided to use them for driver training. The seats had been stacked up on top of each other and most of the glass was missing from the windows. Our destination was Bedford, run round and back, simulating braking and handling at speed. We would then back it away for the evening along the wall sidings and take the engine back to the depot. After a lunchtime shandy at the Merry Widows opposite Derby station we left at 14.00, just in time for the Leicester men to run the train round for us. Our train had to be accompanied by a regular train crew, so as we relieved the Leicester men our 'minders' walked by and climbed into the back cab. Once we were ready Steve went on the phone to the Derby power box to bell us out. I had first go and enjoyed every minute of it. The 25 - or BoBo as many people still called them after their wheel arrangement - was a plucky little engine. I'd second-manned them but never actually driven one. With three coaches we soon got up to maximum speed. Along the route Steve chose various points approaching stations where we had to simulate braking. We weren't allowed to stop, just slow to 20-30 mph and then accelerate away. 'I know we can't actually stop,' I said. 'But why?' 'You'd get passengers trying to get on, of course!' 'You're pulling my leg.' 'You watch then. Slow right down at the next station.' I did as asked. As we approached the platform I could see people getting off their seats, picking up their cases, shuffling towards the platform edge. Then we accelerated again and left them standing open-mouthed. To most folk a train is just a train, but they must have been shocked at the state of ours. They probably thought it was yet another sign of the British Rail's steady decline! After running round at Bedford, Dean took the controls and enjoyed driving the 25 just as much as I had. We were on class 31s for the rest of the week. One of them packed up on us halfway up Desborough Bank. Steve and the Derby driver quickly found the cause - the Woodward governor had come adrift - and they had to do a quick bodge job until a more permanent repair could be made. Another day I got a nasty electric shock off the AWS reset button. This had to be pressed when passing over the magnet on the approach of a restrictive aspect (double or single yellow or red signal). If not reset, the brakes would automatically come on. Between Wellingborough and Kettering we received two restrictive aspects and again I got a jolt, 'I'm not touching that bloody thing again!' I protested. 'Just concentrate on your braking,' said Steve, 'and I'll cancel it. He did so - but not before getting a jolt himself. 'I've got an idea,' I said. 'I'll use my orange vest.' I tested it as we approached a red signal and it worked, so we were in business again. I went on the phone and the signalman informed us that we had a track circuit failure and we were to pass the signal at danger. So with one long blast of the horn - as laid down in the rule book - we set off again. A couple of days later, after a trip to Bedford, we were standing at the signal opposite Derby Research Centre. I went down to the signal post telephone to tell the signalman we had arrived. As I turned back to our loco I noticed a large thick bar hanging off it. It turned out to be part of the brake linkage and could have caused untold damage or an accident to another train. After informing the power box we secured it temporarily until the loco got on shed for attention. I rode back to Burton on a Class 45 with a Derby driver, a pleasant chap who asked how I was getting on with the MP12 course. At Burton we said goodbye. After the shrill whistle, the hiss of air brakes and a billow of blue smoke, the 'Peak' departed, taking its carriages into the distance. Next day I was back at Derby and headed for the 4-shed mess room where we'd arranged to meet. Most of the regular train crews sat on the left side, while men from other depots sat on the right. Derby men - or HQ men as they were known - were a bit cliquey and wary of strangers, so I dropped my bag at a table on the right and settled down to await my instructor and fellow trainee. Across the table a driver was filling out his ticket - the same chap who'd given me a ride back on the 45. I greeted him cheerfully and he said hello. I was quite unprepared for what happened next. The murmur of conversation behind me stopped abruptly - followed by a silence so eerie that the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. One of the Derby lads I was on the course with came over from the other side. 'Come over here with us, Tony, ' he said. 'Don't be sitting with that f***ing scab.' The driver just carried on filling in his ticket. Feeling pressurised I stood up, grabbed my bag and was more or less frog-marched to the other side of the cabin. The conversation started up again and everything returned to normal. The driver had apparently been one of those who worked during the 1982 strike. I'd always been proud to belong to ASLEF but this reaction seemed too extreme and I felt sorry for the man. I began to regret leaving that table but reluctantly decided that keeping my mouth shut was probably the best option. By the middle of the following week our days on the training train were running out. I was in trouble with the parents of my girlfriend for taking her on a scooter rally at the weekend. She phoned me up and was almost to upset to tell me about it. 'Dad says money's no object - he's going to pay to have you taught a lesson.' As if I didn't have enough things on my mind... A couple of nights later I was out walking the dog when a car stopped alongside me. I could see four big blokes inside. The passenger side window was wound down and one beckoned me over. 'Hey mate, here.' This is it, I thought. What should I do? 'Yes?' I said, tentatively approaching the car. 'Have you got a light?' 'Sorry, I don't smoke,' I replied, trying to sound as brave as I could. 'Okay, cheers then.' With that they sped off. But it was still on my mind the next day when we met up in the Merry Widows pub. It was a real railwaymen's pub with a good crowd mixing there - inspectors, drivers, guards, second men. There was always a bit of good-humoured inter depot leg-pulling. Craig knew how to wind up the Derby men and used it with good results. I often wondered how we avoided a punch up - it certainly came close a few times! One day a Derby driver dropped a comment about our depot's involvement in the miner's strike. A few coal trains had been moved for various reasons and it was a subject we were all quite sensitive about. I must have looked worried because Steve approached. 'You're very quiet, Tony. Is there something up?' I shrugged it off and said it was nothing. But they kept on at me and in the end I decided to tell them. 'Sounds as if you've got a bit of a problem,' said Steve. 'I'd help if I could, but all I can say is try and put it at the back of your mind else it'll affect your driving.' As we dropped down towards Bedford on our usual journey two military jets locked onto us. They were from a local airbase and regularly used that stretch of line for practise runs. 'They're just training,' said Steve. 'Beating us up - that's the RAF term for whenever they attack anything.' Again the jets turned back on us and seemed so close and threatening. 'Hey,' said Steve, 'you don't think your girlfriend's dad has paid them to get you, do you?' 'I wouldn't put anything past him!' We had to laugh. After that I began to treat my problem more light-heartedly. We reached Bedford safely (and not full of holes), ran round our train and the guard went back to carry out the brake test. A mixed engineering train driven by a Derby crew arrived on the adjacent platform. After being relieved by Bedford men they walked across to us. 'Are you going back to Derby?' they asked. 'Yes, shortly.' 'Can we ride back with you then?' 'Sure, but there's not much room. There's three of us up here and another three in the back cab.' 'It doesn't matter, we'll ride in the train.' We all looked at each other and tried to warn them about the appalling condition of the carriages. But they were already walking down to them. 'It's their choice,' Steve said with a shrug. The guard came back to ask if the brake test was OK and that he'd be in the back cab for the return journey. It was Dean's turn to drive, so I went down to the signal phone at the end of the platform to get us the road. As soon as the red turned to green off we went. 'Take her to the maximum,' Steve said to Dean. 'We'll give them Derby blokes a ride to remember!' Dean did just that. By the time we reached Derby we'd had forgotten all about our passengers. We were preparing to set back onto the goods line when all of a sudden Dean burst out laughing. 'Hey, just take a look at this lot!' There were the three Derby men, their hands and faces black with dust, which our speed must have whipped up like a dust storm inside the carriages. 'Thanks a flaming bunch!' said one of the Derby men. 'Remind us not to ride in this thing again.' 'You shouldn't be allowed to run around with those at that speed,' their driver said. 'They're not running right. We thought we were coming off the road a few times.' We couldn't help but smirk as they walked crossly away. Two days later we were back to the classroom to recap and relax a bit. Points that had confused us were explained again. Things seemed to fall into place now and we worked hard from then on. We all wanted desperately to become train drivers and the MP 12 was our passport to that ambition. Only hard work could make our dreams reality. Failure would be such a humiliation. My greatest fear - and we all had it - was being the only one to fail while the rest of the trainees got through. Our last day - a Friday - finally arrived. We'd eaten, slept and breathed rules and regulations and the workings of the class 47. Now the dreaded passing out ceremony was on us. An inspector was to take us all in turn for three days each. He was very keen, we were told. Most of them were, but some were worse than others. 'Right, that's it,' said Bernard, dismissing us at noon on our last day. 'I can't do any more for you now. Go off and get studying.' We tried to get him to come for a pint with us, but he politely declined, pointing to a huge backlog of work. A few students took Bernard's advice and went home to start revising. For the rest of us, celebration was a priority and so we set off to enjoy a good afternoon in the Merry Widows. |